


A Vampire and a Werewolf Walk Into a Bar

by ladydeathfaerie



Category: Marvel, The Avengers (Marvel) - All Media Types
Genre: M/M, Supernatural AU - Freeform, sort of fluffy and domestic, there's a little bit of smooching going on
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2015-12-19
Updated: 2015-12-19
Packaged: 2018-05-07 14:20:47
Rating: General Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 2,267
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/5459573
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/ladydeathfaerie/pseuds/ladydeathfaerie
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>Clint spends time reflecting upon his relationship with Phil Coulson and how they ended up together.</p>
            </blockquote>





	A Vampire and a Werewolf Walk Into a Bar

**Author's Note:**

  * For [Ralkana](https://archiveofourown.org/users/Ralkana/gifts).



> written for Ralkana for the 2015 round of a Lump of Coul. i hope you like it!

The bar hadn't changed much over the years. The interior was dark, the air filled with a combination of stale smoke and stale beer. Under that were subtler scents. Things like sweat and fear. And blood. There were echoes of pain and anger. Of all out rage. Those all came from a time when the bar wasn't as civilized as it was now. Even finer than that was the feel of centuries of magic. The Sword and Shield gave the appearance of a quaint old pub, but very few people who weren't gifted in some way could find it. The bar had been standing for centuries, had seen both owners and patrons come and go. To the outside world, the building looked like it was well past its prime and the boarded up windows and doors convinced the mundane to stay out. 

Maria stood behind the bar, pretty much like she did every other night of her very long life, wiping down a glass and chatting with a small group of men who smelled slightly musty, like clothes that had gotten wet and then left to dry in an enclosed space. None of them spared him a glance, but even from this distance, Clint saw their nostrils flare as they scented him. At a table in the corner were a group of women, their hair long and dark and lush. Their eyes were just as dark. The dimness made them look human, but he could see the faint hint of sea green to their skin that marked them as selkies. 

A pair of pixies were twirling around the dance floor, their wings fluttering rapidly in time to the rhythm of the song playing. The tile floor, several feet beneath them, was covered with piles of sparkling pixie dust. Those piles flashed with a rainbow of colors whenever a light hit them. Another corner was home to a trio of the Fae, their skin glowing with the magic under it. The shadows were chased away in the face of their ethereal beauty. He didn't know the men, but the woman with them was someone he knew well. He nodded his head to the tall warrior goddess with blonde hair and hypnotic blue eyes. For a moment, she gave him a cool look. Then a smile spread across her face and it was as if the sun had come out after days of rain. 

There were several different members of the magical community there. A handful of dwarves, ancient gods and goddesses, a gathering of gargoyles, nymphs, and a few others were enjoying the relaxed atmosphere inside the pub. He could name every single one of them by the taste of the magic that rolled off them and by the subtle scents that clung to their skins. Maria, the bartender and owner, was so cloaked in magic that he couldn't decide what flavor of supernatural being she actually was. And she liked it like that. But he suspected she was old. And much more powerful than most people knew. 

And then there was Nick. Nick was an enigma to most of the people who came to Sword and Shield, because he didn't blatantly advertise what he was or where he'd come from. It took someone with keen senses to figure that out. And not everyone in the preternatural community had such senses. Because he was a predator, he'd been gifted with the senses needed to keep himself alive. Nick was not to be trifled with. Because Nick always smelled of ash and fire. And he smelled of crisp, cold air. Power swirled around him like a cape, cloaking him as surely as the leather trench coat he favored cloaked him. He was tall and solid and dark and dangerous. Everything about him screamed of dragon. And even though most of the people in this room had never seen a dragon before, probably didn't even think they existed anymore, his power and the danger in his face kept people away from him as if he was breathing fire at them.

"Your usual, Clint?" Maria asked from her place behind the bar. Clint nodded and flashed a smile even as he took a seat in his favorite booth. 

"Please. And bring a glass of Glenfiddich. The thirty year. Neat, please," he replied

"You got it," Maria nodded, then moved to fill his order. 

Clint relaxed into the leather bench of the booth, letting the soft chatter and the melodic tune soothe him into a relaxed state. The Sword and Shield was done in dark wood and rich leather. It never seemed to age. Perhaps that was the magic that had been poured into it. Perhaps it was just that, in the grand scheme of things, nothing ever really changed. The table before him was made of wood, heavy and sturdy, and the top had been sealed with a glossy coat that gleamed even in the dim light of the bulb overhead. The walls were decorated with large paintings of the very same mythical creatures that sat in the pub at that very moment. Many of them were touched with a hint of magic, letting one and all know that they'd been painted by a member of the community. Some of them had been done by mundane painters, their talent so intense and amazing that they were almost as magical as the other paintings surrounding them. 

He sipped at his glass slowly, marveling at whatever magic it was that Maria used that kept the crimson liquid from going cold and thick on him before he could finish it. It had been this way for as long as he'd been coming to the pub and, someday, he was going to ask her about it. But not today. Today was for thinking about the past. 

Once upon a time, there had been great numbers of magical beings on the planet. Such great numbers that, when a war happened, those that died barely made a dent in the population. And in those early days, none of the factions had wanted anything to do with one another. In the beginning, that had been acceptable. There was no reason to mingle between the different races. Each had kept to their own kind and things had been just fine. 

But their numbers had dwindled over the years, either through humans hunting their kind or simply because eternity was a very long time to live. Clint had known quite a few members of all the varying factions that had gone mad with the never ending years and had ultimately given up their lives. Now they were few. And not many people believed in them anymore. Time had taken its toll on them, had shown them that their old customs and traditions were outdated and dying. That their old hatreds had done a fine job of destroying them. They'd learned the hard way that surviving meant getting past the old ways and coming together as a single community. 

It had been rough. No one had wanted to give up their old domains. Nor had they wanted to give up their old prejudices. That was when the eldest of each group had held a meeting and had decided, after many hours of discussing it, that the only way to really move forward would be to bring the individual groups together by some pretty old fashioned methods. Marriages had been arranged, the idea being that a union between members of two different magical parties would help bridge the gap and draw everyone together. It had worked with some. Not as well with others. 

During the negotiations, it had been decided that the vampires would join with the shapeshifters. They had long had a mutual dislike for one another and, as Nick had pointed out, if the two groups could find a way to join together in a successful union, it would stand as an example for the rest of the magical world. So the vampire elders had chosen Clint as their sacrificial lamb. He hadn't been keen on the idea. Even less when he'd met the wolf to whom he was meant to bind himself. 

"You're lost in thought, Clint. You didn't even notice me approaching." The voice to his left was soft and filled with warmth. Clint looked up to find Phil standing at the table's edge, tie askew even though his black suit and white shirt looked as crisp as when he'd put them on this morning. Clint offered him a smile, allowing the tip of one fang to show, then he rose from his seat and drew Phil into a kiss that would have seen a mere mortal melting into a puddle at his feet. 

Clint broke from Phil when he felt the other man's chest heave just a bit. The smile that came this time was cocky. "Of course I knew you were there. I smelled your cologne the moment you stepped through the door. And the musk of wolf that always clings to you."

He slid back into the booth, watched as Phil did the same. Watched as Phil picked up the tumbler with the finely aged scotch and sniffed it appreciatively before he sipped some of the amber liquid. "That's cheating." 

"You do the same with me," Clint reminded him, sitting back against the booth. He let his gaze settle on Phil and drank in everything that Phil was. Phil smiled and allowed him to do it. It was something Clint did at least once a day. How had he gotten so lucky? 

Of course, he hadn't thought that back in the beginning. Their first meeting had been here at this very bar. The Sword and Shield was neutral ground for all of the magical community. If anyone tried anything, Maria would do horrible things to them. There were stories that a few people hadn't obeyed her rules and they'd never been heard from again. But those things hadn't concerned him that day so many years ago, when Phil had first walked into the pub with that smug look on his face. He was nothing like Clint had expected. 

To be honest, Clint hadn't been expecting much. Like many of his kind, he'd held a deep hatred for the wolves. If you'd asked him at the time, he wouldn't have been able to tell you why. He knew now that it was because it was what he'd been taught, what had been expected of him. But back then, on that day that Phil had walked into his life, Clint had been filled with hate for someone he'd never even met before. Then again, so had Phil. 

Since the union was meant to be political and symbolic, there was no reason why two men couldn't be joined. There would be no children, only a public relationship to prove that the coven and the pack could go a day or six without killing one another. Clint had also suspected that Phil had been chosen as an insult to the vampires. He and his kind was beneath one of the pack's women. So he'd met Phil with arrogance and sarcasm. And he'd called him a flea-bitten mongrel. Phil had countered, without an ounce of anger in his voice, that Clint was a heartless, blood-sucking fiend. 

That was how the two of them had started out their new life together. 

For the following six months, there had been hostility and jibes between them. It might have stayed that way, but Phil had turned out to be loyal and polite, lethal and capable, intelligent and gentle. He was everything that Clint hadn't realized he'd wanted in a life mate. Then had come the night that Clint had found himself cornered by nearly a dozen vampire hunters. How they'd sniffed him out, he hadn't known. It hadn't mattered. They'd all attacked in unison. 

Clint had been prepared for whatever came. He was a vampire, yes. Fast and deadly. But he tried not to kill indiscriminately. Bad for all of them if they left piles of bodies around. Then Phil had sauntered into the clearing like he'd owned the damn place and he'd put every single hunter on the ground without seriously hurting them. When Clint had asked why, Phil had shrugged and said that no one was going to gang up on his mate and get away with it. And that had been that. 

They'd been a real couple in every sense of the word since, going so far as to asking the king of the Seelie court to bind them together in a handfasting. That had been almost twenty years ago. Clint didn't regret a day of it. 

"You're lost in thought again. What were you thinking about?" Phil's voice brought him back to the here and now.

Clint lifted blue eyes that glowed with his vampiric power and stared at Phil for several long moments. "You. You're a flea-bitten mongrel." 

The pub was silent. Clint knew everyone had heard his words. And they all watched him and Phil intently, waiting for what came next. Phil stared at him, eyes searching deep for several long moments. Then he smiled and shook his head. "And you're a heartless, blood-sucking fiend." 

Clint smiled. Flashed fang. Made promises with the look in his eyes. "Sweet talker." Then he lifted his glass and tipped it toward Phil in a silent invitation. Phil brought his own glass up and tapped the edge against Clint's. The glass chimed out a high, sweet note that rang throughout the entire pub. 

"Happy anniversary, Clint." 

"To many, many more, Phil."


End file.
